Loud on the last stern battle-plain "Think not the struggle that draws near Too terrible for man,-nor fear To meet the foe; Nor let thy noble spirit grieve, "A life of honor and of worth Has no eternity on earth,'T is but a name; And yet its glory far exceeds That base and sensual life, which leads "The eternal life, beyond the sky, The soul in dalliance laid,-the spirit "But the good monk, in cloistered cell, His prayers and tears; And the brave knight, whose arm endures His standard rears. "And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured The life-blood of the Pagan horde O'er all the land, In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, "Cheered onward by this promise sure, Strong in the faith entire and pure Thou dost profess, Depart, thy hope is certainty,- "O Death, no more, no more delay And be at rest; The will of Heaven my will shall be,-- To God's behest. "My soul is ready to depart, No thought rebels, the obedient heart Breathes forth no sigh; The wish on earth to linger still Were vain, when 't is God's sovereign will That we shall die. "O thou, that for our sins didst take A human form, and humbly make Thou, that to thy divinity A human nature didst ally By mortal birth, "And in that form didst suffer here Torment, and agony, and fear, So patiently; By thy redeeming grace alone, As thus the dying warrior prayed, Encircled by his family, Watched by affection's gentle eye VOL. I. His soul to Him, who gave it, rose; And, though the warrior's sun has set, *This poem of Manrique is a great favorite in Spain. No lesa than four poetic Glosses, or running commentaries, upon it have been published, no one of which, however, possesses great poetic merit. That of the Carthusian monk, Rodrigo de Valdepeñas is the best. It is known as the Glosa del Cartujo. There is also a prose Commentary by Luis de Aranda. The following stanzas of the poem were found in the author's pocket, after his death on the field of battle. "O World! so few the years we live, Would that the life which thou dost give Alas! thy sorrows fall so fast, Our happiest hour is when at last The soul is freed. "Our days are covered o'er with grief, And sorrows neither few nor brief Veil all in gloom; Left desolate of real good, Within this cheerless solitude No pleasures bloom. "Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, And ends in bitter doubts and fears, Or dark despair; Midway so many toils appear, That he who lingers longest here Knows most of care. "Thy goods are bought with many a groan, By the hot sweat of toil alone, And weary hearts; Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, THE GOOD SHEPHERD. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous, sylvan song Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains; For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be I will obey thy voice, and wait to see Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. Hear, Shepherd!—thou who for thy flock art dying, O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou O, wait!-to thee my weary soul is crying,- see, With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt waiting still for me. TO-MORROW. FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care, Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, O how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied, And when the morrow came I answered still, "To morrow." THE NATIVE LAND. FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high be. THE IMAGE OF GOD. FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA. O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height, |